"Did you get my message, Mr. Brownlow?" asked Mudd.
"Yes."
"Oh, that's all right," said Mudd. "I just thought I'd call and ask. The master told me to send the message; he's going away for a bit. Wants a change, too. I think he's been overworking lately, Mr. Brownlow."
"He's always overworking," said Brownlow. "I think he's been suffering from brain-fag, Mudd; he's very reticent about himself, but I'm glad he saw a doctor."
"Saw a doctor! Why, he never told me."
"Didn't he? Well, he did—Dr. Oppenshaw, of Harley Street. This is between you and me. Try and make him rest more, Mudd."
"I will," said Mudd. "He wants rest. I've been uneasy about him a long while. What's the doctor's number in Harley Street, Mr. Brownlow?"
"110A," said Brownlow, picking the number out of his marvellous memory; "but don't let Mr. Pettigrew know I told you. He's very touchy about himself."
"I won't."
Off he went.